eltered nook,
reflecting back as in a mirror the trees that surround it on all
sides. But we may not linger to drink in the beauty of this quiet
spot, where the red deer once slaked their thirst at its quiet margin,
standing kneedeep in the rushes and lilypads.

Ahead of us a blue jay, that tattler of the woods, flashes his blue
coat in and out among the trees; always saucy, impertinent, and
suspicious, bubbling over with something important to tell, and afraid
he will not be the first to tell it. When he discovers us watching, he
sets up his clamorous cry of "Thief! Thief!" and hurries away to
spread the alarm. A mighty borrower of trouble, this gayly dressed
harlequin of the woods, and yet the forest would not seem complete
without his gay blue vestments.

Suddenly we find ourselves in a cul-de-sac; the trail coming to an
abrupt end. We retrace our steps, and after much searching, find a
narrow trail almost hidden by vines and underbrush. Venturing in, we
follow its tortuous and uneven course along the edge of the canon,
and, as the evening shadows gather, and the stars come out one by one,
tired and dust-covered, we reach the valley, and enjoy the moonlight
ride across the bay to San Francisco.

[Illustration]

Canon and Hillside

Did you ever see the Berkeley hills in the early morning, just before
the sun comes stealing over their rounded domes, or in the evening,
just before it sinks beneath the waters of the bay, and casts its
waning light over their rugged sides?

There never was a more pleasing sight than their uneven profile
sharply drawn against the grayish purple. Watch them as they gradually
assume shape out of the decreasing shadows. The blotches of green and
brown take form and grow into canons and gullies, rocks and towers,
domes and minarets. What a place to build a mosque, and say one's
prayers to the rising sun!

Near the Greek Theater, which pushes its vast amphitheater into the
heart of the hills, winds a canon, not large and imposing, but very
beautiful. It is called by some, after the policy of the University of
California, through whose domain it runs, "Co-ed Canon"; by others,
from the abundance of charming blossoms and luscious fruit found upon
its rugged sides, "Strawberry Canon." But "What's in a name?" By any
other it would be as pleasing.

Trees, gnarled and twisted, reach out their arms across the little
brook that sings merrily at the bottom. Far into the hills it pushe